


Spring

by ohboromir



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Crushes, Fluff, Gen, Implied Unrequited Crush, Puberty, Teen Angst, adult angst since it's turin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-21
Updated: 2018-12-21
Packaged: 2019-09-24 04:53:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,394
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17094281
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohboromir/pseuds/ohboromir
Summary: “Good morning, my dear Túrin!” Beleg’s voice rang across the clearing. “Come sit!”Túrin hesitated, and then sat awkwardly, as though unsure what to do with all his limbs, leaving a gap between him and Beleg that left the elf feeling strange. They had always been so close.“Can I ask you something, Beleg?” he whispered, seeming subdued.





	Spring

“Beleg? Are you busy?”

The coming of Spring had been heralded by a great storm, washing away the remains of winter and painting the forests with life.  The first buds had bloomed into early spring flowers; pink begonia, bright yellow fritillaria and purple hyacinth, mingling with the earthy smell of fresh rain, light and energising. Sitting by the edge of one of the streams, Beleg was deep in meditation, listening to the song of the forest and the chatter of the trees.  For a moment, he didn’t respond, believing the voice was coming from within his mind. However, he soon opened his eyes, waving his young friend over.

If Spring was a season of new growth for Nature, then it must surely be for Men as well. As always, Beleg had spent the Winter out on the marshes and Túrin seemed to have grown from boy to man over the months, despite how short his absence had been. When Beleg last saw him, he had been a child still – barely reaching his breast, smooth faced and skinny. Now, though, he had shot up to Beleg’s shoulders, with no sign of stopping. His shoulders and chest were broader, indicating that he’d been training more. And, perhaps most interestingly, hair had sprouted on his upper lip and chin, short and spiky and wondrously fascinating. He would be a strong warrior before long.

His manner had changed too. Once a polite, but curious and bold child, he had become shy and secretive, spending much of his time alone, so the others had told him. He had even taken to washing his clothes and sheets himself, and bathed almost excessively. Beleg could not pretend to understand it, and when he had asked, the maids had just smiled and shook their hands. _You wouldn’t understand, Captain. You’re Unbegotten._

“Good morning, my dear Túrin!” Beleg’s voice rang across the clearing. “Come sit!”

Túrin hesitated, and then sat awkwardly, as though unsure what to do with all his limbs, leaving a gap between him and Beleg that left the elf feeling strange. They had always been so close.

“Can I ask you something, Beleg?” he whispered, seeming subdued.

“Always.”

“Well,” Túrin began, picking at the grass, “Everyone says you know a lot about romance, and I know you would not laugh at me, so I thought you would be best to ask. How… How do you know if someone likes you?”

Pride blossomed in Beleg’s chest. Túrin had trusted him, of all people, to confide in. Beleg had heard that youth were often shy in their first loves, though he couldn’t remember any such feeling himself. There was jealousy, too, a strange, sharp sensation at the thought of his friend wanting to spend time with someone else. _Don’t be such a child, Beleg. He is not yours alone. He is a free person._

“Is there a particular someone who catches your eye, hm? And who might the lucky lady be?” he teased gently, “For any lady would be thrilled to know of your affections – you are quite a handsome young man.”

“Lucky man, to be more accurate,” Túrin’s cheeks flushed pink, warming Beleg’s heart. “Do you know Halion? The blacksmith’s son?”

“Ah!” Inexplicable relief flooded Beleg. “With the dark hair? Yes, yes, I know him. So you want to win his heart?”

The boy nodded.

When it came to flirting, Beleg would certainly call himself experienced. Over his years, he had many partners, most causal, few serious. He was, by his own account, charming and handsome – and he knew he had no shortage of admirers with the city. But it had been many decades since he had courted anyone, or been courted himself. He was used to the easy familiarity of his usual partners, brief nights of indulgence and comfort. Physicality. Túrin’s situation was hardly his area of expertise. But his friend had come to him advice and he was honour bound to give it.

“You could try inviting him somewhere. So you can be alone with him – perhaps a walk in the forest. Or a training session. Do you know what he likes?”

Túrin shrugged, worrying his lip. “I don’t know if he’d like that, Beleg. He’s very… studious.” he sighed, clearly frustrated. “What if he doesn’t like me, Beleg? I don’t even know what to say to him. How could he like me, when he could have any elf he wanted? I’m such a mess!”

 _Oh, Túrin._ His heart clenched. How hard it must be for his dear friend, away from his own people. If elves found the transition from child to adult uncomfortable, then it surely must outright painful for Men, when they had no one of their own here to guide them. What help could Beleg truly be, when he barely understood Elvish youth?

It was easy to see how uncomfortable Túrin must feel; as far as the child knew, elves did not have stubble, or spots, or awkward sweat. And they did not appreciate such things. Most of them, at least. _If only more of us had Lúthien’s tastes!_

“Ask him to eat with you.” How could he say no to food? “If he laughs at you, I promise to -”

“No! You won’t do anything to him, Beleg! Stay away from him!” Túrin snapped, startling Beleg with his sour mood. He jumped to his feet in a fit of anger, crushing the blooms beneath his boots.

“Túrin?” Beleg made to stand, brow creased, reaching for his friend’s arm.

“You don’t understand anything! Leave me alone!”

Before Beleg could say another word, Túrin had disappeared into the distance. Staring after him, Beleg could not even form the words to explain what had just happened. He’d never seen anyone’s mood change so quickly - was this another effect of mortal adolescence, or something Túrin had developed in his absence? If Thingol had taught him this, he’d kill him, king or not.

*

Two days passed without sight or sound of his young friend. Beleg was beginning to think he was avoiding him. It wasn’t unlike Túrin to take his time calming down from a fight, but Beleg had yet to understand what he’d done wrong.

When he found the boy sitting under a staircase, all thought of their fight was gone. Túrin had his head in hands, the unmistakable sound of sobs escaping from beneath them. The remains of a bunch of flowers lay strewn at his feet.

“Are you alright?”

He draped an arm around Túrin’s shoulders and, to his surprise, the boy didn't push him away. He wiped his eyes quickly, sniffing. Judging by the redness of his face, he’d been crying for some time.

“I’m fine.”

“Don’t lie to me, son of Húrin. Is this about Halion?”

“I…” Túrin had never been a chatty child, but he’d always been eloquent using his few words to great effect. To see him struggle now was painful. “I tried to give Halion flowers.” The memory made him wince and he buried his face in Beleg’s shirt. The elf’s arms pulled him closer, rubbing soothing shapes against Túrin’s back. By some miracle, he wasn’t crying himself, though his chest felt tight and his face burned with the heat of the stars.

“You’ll be alright, Túrin. I’m here.”

*

“Aendir was flirting with me again.”

In their little room under the Hill, Túrin leaned back in the only chair, accepting the flask Beleg offered. The elf reclined on their mattress, lips curled into a scowl.

“Either invite him in here or get rid of him. I hate how you string the fool along.” he growled, his fists – and heart - clenching as he thought of Túrin bringing one of the men to bed. Hadn’t Beleg suffered at their hands enough? Túrin grunted in reply, hardly listening.

“Do you remember Halion?”

“How could I forget? I cried over him for weeks.” A rare laugh filled the air, as Túrin leaned forward. “You must have thought me a terrible fool, besotted with someone who had no interest!”

“You are always a fool, my dear Neithan.” The name tasted bitter and Beleg’s laugh was weak. _Yes, such a fool. And look at me now, as jealous as a dwarf._

“Shut your mouth,.” Túrin tossed the flask back, clapping his friend on the shoulder. “Cheer up, old friend. Spring is almost here.”

Spring had never seemed so bitter.

**Author's Note:**

> For Tolkien Secret Santa 2018!
> 
> My giftee requested fluff, so I tried to keep the angst to a minium lol.
> 
> Yes, in my hc Elves do have puberty, in their own weird way. Poor Túrin!


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